


Whispers of the Heart

by Whuffie



Series: Breaking the Wall [4]
Category: Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Erotica, F/M, Fluff, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whuffie/pseuds/Whuffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains Spoilers about Blackwall's romance and Dragon Age: Inquisition</p><p>After Rainier's trial, Alpha is left to deal with the damage to their relationship.  Having already lost someone she loved, she wasn't ready to let Blackwall go, but their problems couldn't be solved in the five minutes where she stood at the seat of judgement.  He was forgiven, but that was just the beginning.  Usually one to suppress her emotions, Alpha struggles with her own past, present, and any possible future she might have with Blackwall.  Only when making love do her feelings finally tear open enough for her to start dealing with them.</p><p>Warnings: Graphic sex included but this is as much about relationships, emotion, and characters as it is the smut</p><p>All sex is with consent</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers of the Heart

Alpha didn’t apologize for the kick in the groin she’d just given her Orlesian allies.  Politically, it looked as naive as any typical Marcher “barbarian,” and had the potential to bite back.  She trusted Josephine’s diplomatic finesse to shield the Inquisition from the worst of it.  Her only real regret was the audience crammed in to watch the trial.  They evidently had nothing better to do while demons poured out of holes ripped between worlds.  Many of them wore the outrageous clothes, used over emphasized gestures, and hid their faces behind painted masks.  Captain Rainier’s crimes had been against the Orlesian nobility and the masked spectators were who worried Alpha most.

Half of Skyhold was packed in the main hall and ogling as she stood defiantly in front of them.  Gossip always traveled faster than messenger birds.  She’d expected curiosity but nothing like the gawking crowd who were milling around.  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise.  No one loved a scandalous love affair more than Orlesians, but she didn’t like the fact Blackwall had become the center of attention.  The private life of the Inquisitor wasn’t any business of theirs, and she had to squash the initial impulse to threaten to cut out tongues.  She wasn’t so brutal before she got tossed at the head of the Inquisition, but the practical side of violence became more enticing every day.  Why blackmail someone if you could just kill them and be done with it?  She could picture Josephine and Cullen’s reactions in her head and sighed inwardly.  On their imagined council, she reminded herself that sinking that far into darkness was dangerous for her soul, no matter how easy it would be.

Blackwall’s vivid light blue eyes searched hers, looking for answers, but Alpha had nothing else to give.  Granting his freedom on the condition he used it to pursue a life of redemption by serving the Inquisition, she accepted a promise that in the middle of all the lies, he told the truth about how he felt.  In a moment of bitter, blazing fury she wanted to spit in his face.  He’d torn her apart by leaving with a few lines written in a note and the intention of never seeing her again.  It would have made savage, dark places in her soul tremendously satisfied to put a proverbial knife in his back.   

Then she remembered his face when he asked to come with them to the Inquisition and how badly he wanted to make a difference.  Ghost echoes of hands binding one another’s wounds at the end of a long day broke through the glacial fury as she unconsciously touched an old scar where a gurn had ripped open her ribs.  When she wasn’t fast enough, he leaped in to put his body between herself and the monster, bracing his weight behind his shield.  Anger evaporated as she remembered the way his gorgeous eyes shone with admiration when she gave blankets to the freezing people of the Hinterlands, or delivered ram meat to stretch refugee supplies.  By the time she reminded herself of the way his arms felt wrapped around her while he tried to teach her wood carving without slicing off a finger, her heart knew it would have been a mistake to send him away.  She was furious, but as much as she wanted to lash out, she couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.  Caressing the coarse hair of his beard once, she dropped her hand, and could see an entire world of questions and pain in his face.  

Because they were in public, she accepted his kiss, but couldn’t offer any comfort.  The hall of strangers had all seen enough of her private life, and she wasn’t going to serve up any more free entertainment.  It would take time before she could sort through her disappointment and have a civil conversation with Blackwall.  In spite of what the whispering spectators thought, they weren’t anyone’s performing bears to dance on command.   It wasn’t the time nor place.  There were already murmurs of disbelief slithering through the crowd when as she ordered one of her men, “Take the chains off of him.  Now.”  An Inquisition soldier came forward and put the key into locked manacles which weighed down the wrists and arms of a traitor, liar, killer, protector, lover, and noble ass.

The guard was quick and efficient, but her keen eye caught the traces of red smeared on the inside of the restraints.  The Orlesians had not been cruel in her lover’s captivity, but they also hadn’t been kind.  Over the false Grey Warden’s shoulder, she defiantly dared anyone to argue.  “I’ll send for you tonight, in my quarters.” It wasn’t the usual way she invited him, and she hissed the order an inch from his ear.  His throat worked as he swallowed, still downcast, but nodded the smallest inch.  They both knew they were still in love.  That had been enough to give him a monolithic second chance, but all the damages from his lies weren’t something which would be fixed so easily in front of a transfixed crowd.    

Her stone grey eyes were unyielding as mountain frost as he stood off to one side, behind her, in a subordinate’s position.  He was, after all, Orlesian, she reminded herself with a sour distaste. He’d played the Grand Game, so what were a few token politics?  He was showing everyone that he deferred to her.  Some eyes followed him, but most were on her.  She met each stare, not caring if it was a pilgrim, Orlesian visitor, or one of her own scouts.  Her savage, confident challenge bore the gossips uncomfortably down one by one.  No one liked a suggestion they were doing something wrong, and they looked at the decor, their shoes, or suddenly found reasons to talk to someone beside them. _Do not cross me,_ her glare advised. _I’ve taken something for myself this time.  I sacrificed everything I could for you, and I’ll keep doing it until I’m dead. I’ve bled for you, suffered terrors for you, walked the Fade for you in spite of not being a mage.  The nightmares I’ve faced would have broken most of you.  I’ll have this mark burned into my hand for the rest of my life, and it’s almost killed me more than once.  I pay the price gladly,_ _but you won’t take love away from me.  His crimes and penance were put into my hands; the hands blessed by Andraste according to you.  This is my judgement, and you made my judgement law._

From the ridiculous goat hurling incident splattering ram guts to her walls to mass murderers, she’d tried to meter decisions fairly, weighing all evidence before dispensing justice.  She would never get everyone to agree on all her policies, but she always hoped to stand firmly on the side of the law until Thom Rainier.  It had tapped into the burning, cold rage which had been driving her to destroy Corypheus, even if it meant sinking her own fingers into his corrupted flesh and pulling out his throat.  Intelligence and a healthy dose of self preservation kept her from doing anything that stupid, but she had managed kick him a few times before Haven was leveled around their ears.   She was sure she had nothing to lose, and that had turned her into a cornered beast who was Void bent on surviving.  He never should have let her get her feet on the ground, but the fool had.  His arrogant mistake meant she and most of Haven would live because she had been too angry to quit.  

Rage was a tool as surely as the razor fine edges of her daggers, and she let everyone in the crowd see it.   _The gallows will not get him.  I’ll have to start a rumor that the Inquisition is going to kill anyone who talks too much about this.  Let them see wrath.  Let them know that Andraste is long gone to the Maker, and her perfection with her.  I’m not her.  I’m me, and my fury will only stand still for so long before I take action._

One by one, all eyes turned away from her as she stood her ground for long minutes.  Orlesian masks were hardly the anonymity they pretended, and they did not hide the furtive, nervous expressions which went meekly beneath her silent challenge.  

They would talk, but Alpha had the nickname for a reason.  She was born last in her family, but had to be first in everything.  That fierceness put veridium into her spine as she finally descended the steps from the judgement throne.  The hostility drained away immediately as she stopped calmly in front of Josephine.  “If there is nothing else?”

Glancing over her notes, she quickly jotted something down with the scrape of quill on parchment.  “No, Inquisitor, that is all for today.”  

“Thank you.”  It was for more than just the moment, and meant for everything she’d done since Blackwall went to Val Royeaux.  They were close enough that Alpha caught both the nod of acknowledgment and the relief underlying Josie’s crisp, polite professionalism.  Everyone knew the relationship which had developed between presumed Warden and Inquisitor.  There hadn’t been any reason to keep it a secret, but now she could see Josephine’s concerns for both a hurting friend as well as the political hornet’s nest it had the potential to stir up.  Friend that she was, she was standing by to pick up pieces if it came to it, and not to chastise or question.  Alpha spared another quick smile of appreciation, then strode out of the doors into the sunlight.  Mutters and glances followed her, but when she defiantly paused to look over her shoulder, they ceased.  She knew all of it would resume the moment she could no longer hear, but let them come.

She went through her routine with cool focus, not bringing up the subject of Thom Rainier to anyone.  There were always a thousand small tasks demanding her attention, and answering questions for Josephine about diplomatic missives were a place to begin.  She spent some time outside the war room then went upstairs to visit her commander.  Cullen had a speculative look, but didn’t push her to talk about it.  Instead, he stayed on the more comfortable topics of work, updates, and questions.  The tactics and strategy were largely left to he and Leliana, but Alpha lead.  She couldn’t do that without knowing the movements of the enemy,  where she would personally be the most effective, or where a contingent of soldiers needed to march.  She spoke with him for awhile, and the only obvious sign of her mood was the tense lack of humorous jibes she used on him.  

Once everything was temporarily settled, the bristling Inquisitor made her way to the Spymaster.  Between the two advisers, she was handed reports of Tevinter invasions, red lyrium, dragons and darkspawn.  It never ended, and she had news from Harding and Dagna to read through by the time she dropped her armor off for repair.  Daggers needed sharpening and her boots had also worn out. The cobbler gave her a temporary pair until hers could be resoled the next day.    

Every duty was a reprieve from her personal life and mixed memories of Waryn and Blackwall.  She thought she’d finally been able to put the worst of the residual feelings for her dead husband behind her.  For the first few years it was Waryn “passed on” or had “gone to the side of the Maker” because everyone around her thought it softened the blow.  It didn’t, because there was no grief like losing someone to unexpected death.  The hollowness it carved into the gut like a coiled parasite and ached constantly.  All the platitudes in Thedas couldn’t make it better, and eventually she stopped pulling the punch.  Waryn hadn’t “left to the Maker.”  He was dead; dead and never coming back.  She hoped it was to a better place as the Chantry claimed, but there were times she couldn’t help but doubt.  

Numb at first, her life was wooden, painful, and she’d break down sobbing for long minutes when she came across one of his treasured possessions.  A small thing would stir memories, and she’d climb back into the bleak hole of heartbreak.  Some days she curled into a fetal ball, still able to smell him in the blankets, and clutch his pillow.  Sobbing herself senseless into it, she wouldn’t move for hours, and barely fed herself.

Eventually, the tears came less often, and she could plod through her day without breaking apart every few hours.  Months passed, and time did its work, laying callouses over the heartache.  After the first year it got better, and she truly started to heal.  Four years later she hadn’t been looking for another man when she’d met Blackwall, but something about him was oddly compelling.  Smooth as Orlesian silk one minute, earthy as any Ferelden the next, then childishly crude another, he was a puzzle.

The sex had been incredible, and she’d gotten truly interested in sharing her body again.  Ironically, the first time he’d been lurking on her balcony and trying to convince both of them that the relationship was doomed had started heating things up.  She discovered just how much she wanted a man to bend her over the railing and fuck her until she could barely see or walk straight.  Maker it was good, but she also slowly realized she needed a partner to love.  Blackwall had more than ample experience in pleasing her, and they were building toward something more emotionally gratifying.

Gradually, she began to let the guilt over Waryn go.  It was right to move on, and part of life.  Saying and doing it were always very different, and everything had been a slow uphill trudge.  Each battle, each kiss, each time she woke next to him and felt the tender places on her inner thighs or neck from his beard had made her affection grow.  For the second time in her life, she was in love.  Finding him in prison cell, crumbled to his knees, calling himself a monster had ripped open parts of herself she didn’t know existed.  Being blindsided by her own emotions always infuriated her, so she wasn’t in any hurry to face Rainier.  

Her itinerary wore out, and she eventually finished her circuit around Skyhold in her quarters. Just as everything had once reminded her of Waryn, her quarters were full of lingering ghosts which made her think of Blackwall.   _Damn him._

She ordered a bath prepared and undressed slowly, blanking her mind from how he would have had trouble working the clasps loose or how his body felt against hers.  Anger made it easier, and she sank into the tub, wishing it could have done the normal job of soothing away the cares of the day.  Even the warm water and rising steam couldn’t offer relief as she scrubbed her short, rust colored hair clean.  It stuck up worse than usual when she dried herself, put on clean clothes, and ordered another bath drawn.  “Send Blackwall up,” she told one of the many messengers who darted through Skyhold.  “We need to have a chat.”

The dwarven woman had a knowing look which suggested she was glad not to be in Blackwall’s boots, and scurried away.  He arrived alone a few minutes later, shoulders rounded and steps leaden.  She dropped her drying cloth in front of the fireplace and took out a clean set of his clothes from the wardobe.  “Come in.”  The frosty edge hadn’t left her voice, but she managed to control most of it. “There’s a bath waiting for you,” she added curtly.  “You smell like the prison.”  

“My lady?” he ventured, obviously thinking it might have been a better idea to turn around and leave.

“We’ll talk about everything, but first things first.”  She crossed her quarters with defiant, quick strides until she was in front of him.  Deft, light fingers began to pluck at the laces on his dirty clothing and helped him shed it.  There was nothing seductive or enticing about her efficient actions, and no invitation.  At least they hadn’t beat him while he was a prisoner, and she couldn’t find any serious bruises or abrasions beyond what was healing from the last time they were together in a battle.  “Get in before it gets cold.”  Her voice had thawed a few degrees, and she lathered a cake of soap up in a rag.  Once he reluctantly finished stripping and obeyed, she rubbed a lather over his neck.  Normally a similar situation would have drawn out her playfulness, but she didn’t try to pull him out of his brooding quiet.  In silence, she gently scrubbed muscles in his back, shoulders, and bit of weight he carried on his gut.  Her fingers glided through the thick hair on his chest and she heaved a quiet sigh.  

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her gruffly.  “I know you’re angry with me.”

“You have no idea.” Soft and deadly earnest, icy venom coiled around her words.  “Absolutely none.  I’m doing this because I still love you, now let me see your wrists.”  He started to argue, but she pinned him down with a murderous glare.  “Do not,” she advised, showing her teeth, “make this worse.”  

Obediently, he lifted his arms out of the water and she tenderly dried where they were cut.  It wasn’t serious, but she took a small pot of elfroot paste from her desk and dabbed it on the worst of the raw spots left from the manacles.  Taking a roll of clean bandages from the same injury kit, she calmly wrapped his injuries.   “Come to bed,” she told him softly.  “The tub can be emptied tomorrow.”  

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”  She dried him in the same way she’d helped him bathe, and there wasn’t any invitation to it.  He also noticed that she broke her normal habit of sleeping nude when they were in Skyhold, and wore a clean, oversized shirt to bed.  He followed the example and put on the spare set of clothes she gave him.

“I’m sure.”  She flipped the blankets to his side of the bed up in invitation, and he hesitated a few seconds before he joined her.

Without preamble, she curled into his body the way they usually slept in a tent, and he automatically put his arms around her.  With her tucked in close and the smell of her damp hair, he could almost forget everything which had happened in the past week, continuing on with the lie which had been slowly killing him since she first let him stay the night with her.  

“Every time you said something flattering to me,” she began, putting her hands over where his were flush on her stomach, “I had to kill a little piece of something inside of me.  I only had Waryn for nine years, but I loved him.”  They’d been married for eight of those years.  “I had to remind myself that part of me always would, but he was gone.  I reminded myself that it was alright for me to love someone else, and he’d probably even want that.  I’m not going to lie to you.”  That part kicked him in the belly worse than everything else she’d just said.  “I’m so furious with you right now I could rip apart one of Cassandra’s practice dummies and have anger left over to spar with Bull.”  

There was a long pause, but she didn’t pull away from him as he expected.  He couldn’t feel any tension in her body except the slightest tremor running along her back.  “I knew we’d regret this.  I told you it would have been better had you gone on thinking I was the man you deserved instead of –”

“Instead of the man who I love,” she cut over him savagely.  “Instead of you?  I want you to tell me something. Why were you helping those people when I first saw you?  There wasn’t an Inquisition there to inspire you, and we hadn’t met.  Why go through the trouble when you could have just kept traveling?”

“Because I couldn’t leave the poor bastards to do it by themselves,” he shot back irritably and moved uncomfortably against her.  “It was what Blackwall – the real Blackwall – would have done.”

“Blackwall was dead.”  Unrelenting and harsh, the cold ball inside her stomach was starting to expand, making red dance on the edges of her vision.  Part of her still wanted to hurt him, but there was more to it than that.  She didn’t understand where most of her feelings were coming from, and wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or him of something. “There wasn’t anyone to see you,” she pointed out, rolling over to face him in the lamp light.  “You did that on your own.”

“Why?” he demanded and pushed himself up to his elbow, getting ready to storm out.  If she really wanted him, why was she bringing it up?  Alpha put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked at it, stopping.  “What does it matter?” he continued caustically.  “What’s done is done.  If you wouldn’t have come after me you could have gone on believing I was a noble man instead of a murdering, cowardly traitor.”  Still staring down at her hand, he muttered, “Why are you doing this?  I warned you I’m not worthy of you.”

“Because,” she put her palm against his face, making him look at her and locking their eyes, “it’s important to me.  You hurt me worse than anyone has in my life.  This can’t even compare to Waryn’s death.  I need this.  It’s not to get back at you.” To her surprise, she realized she meant it.  Words confounded her and she licked dry lips.  “Orlais thinks you’re a traitor, but I saw how you acted at the Winter Palace.  You hated the Grand Game as much as I did, and not only because someone almost recognized you.  Life isn’t worth a copper to them, and murder was nothing except a mild diversion.  Let them think what they want, but I don’t believe you’re a traitor.  That country doesn’t know the meaning of the word nobility.  Everything is about the precious _Game_.” She spat the last word.  "I’ve known your loyalty from the second you wanted to come with us and fix the rift.  You didn’t just join up because I had a nice ass and a pretty face.”

“Of course I didn’t.”  She could almost hear the exasperated eye roll, even if he managed to refrain.  “That doesn’t excuse what I did.  I didn’t even care when I took the job because there was good gold in it.”

“No,” she agreed softly, “but there’s none here.  I didn’t offer to pay you to get you to help us.  You volunteered, remember?  I’m still angry with you, but I’m in love with the man I know.  If it’s Blackwall or Thom doesn’t matter any more.  We’re going to have to take this a day at a time for awhile.  Please stay,” she added, making it a request.  He was normally as stubborn and independent as a druffalo, so the fact he’d been meekly putting up with her so far was proof he wanted to salvage the relationship as much as she did.  Sighing, she put her arms around his shoulders and snuggled against him, pressing their bodies together.  “I don’t even know what to call you.  Is it Thom or Blackwall?  Rainier is dead as far as anyone is concerned in Orlais, but there’s those who saw the whole mess in public tonight.”  She sighed against his shoulder.  “Now I’ll have to kill all of them.”

“You’re joking.”  He backed away a few inches to look her in the face.

“Of course I’m joking.”  She did roll her eyes contrarily at him, but didn’t mention how she’d actually entertained Cullen’s plan to kick in the door of the prison, killing any of the Orlesian guards who got in the way. Leliana gave her a better idea.  Maker bless the Spymaster’s devious mind, because once Alpha passed a certain point with her decisions, blood tended to flow.  “It will just be a rumor to shut them up.”

“You’re going to start a rumor that you’ll have them killed for talking about me,” he repeated, staring hard at her.  “Are you sure that’s wise?  You have a reputation to worry about.”

“Let’s plug the hole in the sky and worry about my reputation later.  If we can manage to keep the world from ending, they’ll forgive a wild rumor of a love sick Inquisitor.  If they don’t, then they can damned well find someone else to lead this house of madness.”  Trying to lighten the mood, she smirked.  “Then I will have to kill someone – don’t look at me like that.”  The attempt at levity fell flat, and that made her even more cross.  “I’m not serious.  I kill enough people as it is, and I’m not going to start adding gossips.  I’d never get anything else done in my life and have to purge over half of Orlais.”  

She allowed herself a sigh and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.  “I wish we could have handled this less publicly, but my choices were limited.”  The man who took his place was a traitor, but not to Celene inside the Grand Game where treason was as casual as an afternoon luncheon.  That one had betrayed the Inquisition, and while she didn’t think of herself as some precious being restoring order to chaos on the back of a white horse, she was trying to stop a megalomaniacal darkspawn magister.  If the Inquisition failed, the world itself was going to burn.  Being a traitor to that was something which she took seriously.  

The anger was still there, raw and untouched, but she’d eventually find a way to calm it.  She’d told Blackwall to go with his gut when he was still in chains.  It was good advice for both of them, and she gave his beard a gentle, playful tug.  “So what do I call you now?”

“I’ve gotten used to Blackwall,” he relaxed significantly as she smiled at him.  “Perhaps we could treat it less of a name and more of a title – almost like ‘Inquisitor.’ It reminds me of what I ought to be.”

“You realize I’m screaming the name of a dead Grey Warden in the middle of sex with you.”  She propped an elbow under herself so she could look at him.  “Don’t you find that just a little bit odd, because I do? It’s not like you’re saying ‘Inquisitor’ in the middle of it, and if you do, I’m going to hit you with something.  Consider yourself warned.”

He laughed briefly straight from his belly, unable to help himself.  “Leave it to you to come up with that.  I suppose when you put it that way – now you’ve got me thinking about it,” he accused in exasperation. “Confounding woman.  You want me to start calling you Patricia?”

She shot him a sour look.  “Not particularly, but I guess I deserve that.”  She never liked her given name, and Alpha had always suited her better.  Maybe he was right, and she could get used to the idea he’d traded Blackwall’s death and wanted it for a title.  It seemed different somehow, and wrong because her name hadn’t ever belonged to someone else.  “We could try using Thom,” she suggested, absently curling a lock of his hair around her index finger, “and see what it’s like.  Isn’t this the part where we’re supposed to have makeup sex which makes me unable to walk for a week, anyway?”    

For the first time since the night he’d left her, he put his hand against her face and caressed it, his eyes vulnerable and pained.  “It can’t be that simple.”

“No,” she agreed quietly and turned her face into his hand, closing her eyes.  “It won’t be, but it’s a start – if you want to.  It can wait if you don’t, just so long as you stay with me tonight.  I don’t think I could stand to be alone.”

In answer, he leaned in to kiss her.  The amount of hunger and desperation in the response startled him.  She’d always been playful and forthright about what she wanted, but this was different.  He didn’t know what she was trying to tell him, but there was something.  His hands quickly found the front of her shirt, and thick fingers fumbled with the tiny pearl buttons. Why did she always have so many little buttons and clasps on everything she wore?  The way she was wiggling and the bad light made him sure they’d torn several off before she lost patience.  

“Don’t worry about them.”  She grabbed the hem and pulled off the entire shirt from hips to breasts, exposing familiar, pale, freckled skin.  She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and flung it in the direction of a chair.  It landed across one arm, but she wasn’t in the mood to gloat about her aim.  

He filled his hands with her breasts.  They were just large enough for him to hold while he rubbed her rosy nipples up to hard points, and the little thrill of pleasure in her throat never failed to turn him rock hard.  

“Thom,” she breathed as her back flexed, pushing her breasts deeper into his grasp.  Her skills with laces and clothes were more honed from handling locks, so she made ridiculously quick work of his clothes.  Pushing the clean shirt off his shoulders, her kisses at the base of his throat rapidly became hot swathes of her tongue and love bites.  Blindly, she tossed his clothes in the same general direction as hers.  For several insatiable seconds, her hands were on top of his while her nipples rolled between his index and second finger.  “Mm, Thom.”  

The way she said his name made it sound hot, dirty, and musical all at the same time.  He didn’t know how she did it, but admitted, “I could get used to the way that sounds.”  It had been a long time since any woman used his name, and never the way it was with her.  Nothing ever was, and she reclined on her back. Running her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, she enthusiastically devoured his mouth again.  She’d never been ashamed or shy about her body, and lifted one knee, spreading her legs in invitation.  

Maker’s balls, she knew how to drive him mad.  Even as they kissed, her hands were following the trail of hair down to his cock.  Quick and supple, her fingertips stroked him, pausing only long enough for him to watch, transfixed, as she slid two fingers inside of herself.  Without a trace of bashfulness at the self pleasure, her mouth parted with a soft sigh.  Once her fingers were wet, she lubricated the head of his cock for slow turns with the ball of her thumb, and focused on him again.  

“I want you, Thom,” she practically purred, and her hips twitched violently as his practiced fingers found her sensitive clit.  He rubbed relentlessly until she leaned completely back into the pillows, giving in.  Spreading her legs wider to give him access, his mouth found all the places he knew would make her scream in pleasure.  Lips and tongue traced the fluttering pulse on her throat, her breasts were caught inside the warm wetness of his lips for his ever questing tongue.  It circled quickly as the softness filled his mouth.  He licked and sucked as his teeth gently pinched delicate skin, rewarding him with another lusty, nonsensical shout that thrummed helplessly through her torso.  

She writhed beneath his weight, and softly keened his real name again, although it was an effort not to call him Blackwall.  It meant thinking differently, but if she could hold on to it then, she could do it at any time. Fingers in his long hair, she shut away any distractions from inside and without.  Like the last time they were together, she wanted it to be just the two of them, with nothing else to get in the way.  

They’d fucked many times before, sating hunger or wildly celebrating victories over death.  The first dragon slaying had her practically leaping astride his hips once they’d both healed and realized the enormity of what they’d done.  Other times they’d made love, keeping a slow, sensual pace where they took time in mutually pleasuring each other.  She didn’t know which she wanted this time, and her emotions were a twisted ball of knots.  All she knew was that one way or another, she wanted him inside of her and to blot out the world for a few seconds in an orgasm so she could forget everything else.

Blackwall was left to make the decision, and he desperately wanted to show her that he meant what he’d said about laying his heart bare.  She was ready and wet under his fingers, but when he positioned himself between her legs, he entered her gradually, filling her while she tightened around him.  When he moved inside of her, he was slow, tender, and continued to stroke her face as he kissed her mouth, neck, cheeks, and ears.  

Her words dissolved into tiny gasps of pleasure or loud, unhindered moans.  She needed the release.  She craved it so much it was almost painful to wait for the climax which crept up on her, unhurried.  Digging her heels into the mattress, she angled her body toward him, taking in every inch each time he thrust.  He rode her with a moderate rhythm, and their bodies met in intimate, familiar unison.  She wanted to let go, but even as she felt herself building toward an orgasm, her emotions boiled.  “Thom,” she heard herself saying as she buried her nose in the far edge of his beard, nearest his ear.  “Maker, Thom.”  All her nerves began to focus on the one place they were connected, forcing all her attention between her legs as his motions became faster and hungrier.  She was so close, and her hips lifted toward him as she spasmodically tightened around his cock.  “Thom, don’t ever leave me.”  The truth came loose from a protective prison she’d built around it.  Physical vulnerability and emotions twined with pleasure, sorrow, anger, relief, joy and undiluted lust.  “Promise you won’t ever do that again,” she begged in a strangled, broken plea.  “Promise you won’t leave me like –” Like Waryn had.  The realization hit her almost the same time as climax.  As pleasure burst through her body, so did tears.  A jumbled wreck of feelings rampaged from the twitching, sensitive places where he still thrust into her swollen, hot center.  She clung to his shoulders as she heard his familiar, guttural shout of her name when he peaked.  “I can’t lose you, too,” she babbled. _Not like I did Waryn._

She sobbed against Blackwall’s shoulder, and with his head still foggy from coming inside of her, it took a minute to realize what was happening.  Swallowing to get his labored breath under control, he was too afraid to ask what was wrong.  He didn’t always understand her, so he did the only thing he thought he could.  Letting her hold onto him, he put his hand behind her head and cupped it, waiting for her to somehow cue him to what he was supposed to do next.  He’d been with a lot of different women in another lifetime, hidden behind masks and exotic pleasures.  An Orlesian soldier wasn’t ever without sex, if he was careful about the Game.  A few literally chose to be on their knees and enthusiastically doing his bidding while he stroked their hair and praised them, but it was empty pleasure.

Alpha wasn’t anything like that, but none of his partners had ever started crying after they’d gotten done.  He had to quell a sense of panic which was worse than the first time someone came at him with a bared sword, trying to kill him.  What had he done now to hurt her?  More importantly, what could he do to stop it?  She said she couldn’t lose him, and asked him not to leave her again.  At least that much he could understand, and answer.  His voice was husky and thick when he responded.  “Never, My Lady.  I’ll never leave your side again.”

Alpha let herself break, and trusted him to be there while she needed him like no other.  “Promise me,” she begged, in the softest, most timid voice he’d ever heard come from her.

“No more running.”  He never thought of her as small or precious, but he put his arms around her as if he could protect and shelter her from the world instead of the other way around.  “I swear I’ll stay with you.”   

Her mouth was sweet, soft, and tears coated her lips as she kissed his lips and cheeks.  Smiling through the sobs, she vowed, “I’m going to hold you to that.” Clinging together like she was about to drown, she cried the deep, cleansing, all encompassing sobs which blotted out the world almost the same as orgasm.  It made her feel better, and emptied all the dark, cold, sick feelings which had been clamped around her guts since the trial.  After a few minutes, she was able to breath freely again, and wiped her face the corner of the blanket.  She blinked up at him when she could croak coherently.  “I love you, Thom,” she whispered.

“I love you too, Patricia.”

Her familiar smirk came through and she gave him a love nip on the neck.  “Ass,” she muttered at him, laughing weakly, but it was deeply affectionate.  “I suppose you can use my real name, but no one else.  It will be our little secret.”  She absorbed the closeness for a few minutes, lapsing into a lazy peace which she hadn’t felt in weeks.  Even during sex she could tell something had been wrong that night in the barn, but this time everything had felt right again; better than right.  “You don’t have a wife hidden away anywhere or something else I need to know about, do you?”

“Now who’s an ass?” he retorted with a scowl.  “Of course I don’t!  You know everything now, and why I’m not wort–”

“Don’t start,” she warned, putting her fingertips over his lips.  “You tried to tell me several times, but we got ourselves into this relationship.  I’m just as much a part of it as you are, because I didn’t listen.  I’m glad I didn’t.”  She traced the lines of muscle beneath his chest hair, letting her mind wander.  She preferred calling him Thom now that they’d experimented, and had an idea.  “Blackwall must have been a family name, what was his first name?”

He shifted slightly so she could comfortably tangle their legs.  “Gordon.  Not many used it.  He was always ‘Warden Blackwall.’”

“Did he have anyone like family he left behind, or a wife?” He’d been dust for a long time, but she wondered if anyone missed the man who died on that lonely place they’d visited.  Were there still people who wondered what became of him?  Did they think bandits, darkspawn, or something else took him so he wasn’t ever seen again?

“He was alone far as I ever knew.  The Wardens are often like that.  They take in anyone and give them a new life.  If there was anyone, he never talked about it.”

If anyone was looking for him, Leliana or someone else should have known.  “Thom Blackwall?” she ventured, looking into his face.  “Rainier is dead, but it could be the best of both.  No more pretending to be a Warden.  They don’t need you, but the Inquisition does.  I need you.” He always looked lost when she brought something like that up, because he’d put everything decent inside of himself toward living toward an ideal.  “You’ve wanted to change and you have been for a long time.  I’ve always seen your worth by your actions.  The Inquisition may not be as impressive as legends and griffons, but we’re important.  I want you to be part of that and inspire people just like you did as a Warden.  Thom Blackwall is the sum of both parts of you, and who I fell in love with.”

He’d sworn no more masks or lies, but stripping them away was excruciating.  He’d been clinging to Blackwall’s life for years like a coward, convincing himself that he was being a better man.  All he was doing was running away again, same as when he saw those boys string up the poor, dumb mongrel.

Even after all he’d done and how she found out, Alpha stayed with him.  Had he been as brave as he’d been pretending, he’d have told her when he intended.  Now he knew that she might have been furious, she wouldn’t have walked away.  She had all the courage he lacked, but he’d resolved to be a better man.  Half his fears were unfounded, and he’d be worthy of her and the Inquisition she’d started.  

He was quiet for a long time, but she didn’t break into his thoughts.  Her even breathing rose and fell comfortably beside him.  It felt good to hear her calling him by his rightful name when she wanted him. Everyone else could go on calling him Blackwall because, as she said, his past was dead.  “Thom Blackwall.”  He rolled the name around in his mouth, finally.  “It’s a good idea.”   

“My ideas are always good.”

“Like attacking that sleeping dragon?”  He pulled a pillow under his head.

“That was a good idea,” she insisted defensively.  “We killed it, didn’t we?”

“What about the haunted mansion you were so damn stubborn about exploring, and those demons?”  

“Oh hush.”  She turned over and pulled his arm over her as she snuggled her back against his chest.

“And the giants?”

She nibbled on the end of his thumb, then bumped him in the stomach with her elbow.  “Do I need to remind you I’m a formally trained assassin, Thom Blackwall?”

He kissed the back of her neck, smiling.  “No, my lady, you don’t.”  


End file.
